


i see you

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek
Genre: No Romance, Starfleet Academy, i want to hug them both, really different people can have a connection sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:54:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chekov was very used to people dismissing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i see you

**Author's Note:**

> just a silly little thing i came up with which is actually kind of serious.

Chekov was very used to people dismissing him.

His roommate said it was his curly hair and his ‘big, baby deer eyes’, which ‘gleamed like stars’ whenever Chekov got excited over something. (Haavarick was drunk at the time, but people were never more truthful after they had taken several shots.)

It was annoying, because whenever Chekov tried to prove to people that he was good, that he should be taken seriously, the only thing his peers would ever do is ruffle his hair and call him ‘cute’.

“What else was invented in Russia, Chekov?” they’d ask, not nastily, which was probably the worst thing.

There were people who resented him for his academic abilities and they were the people who gave him hard looks and shoved past him in the corridors. But most people weren’t like that. 

Chekov was not stupid. He was small and he was young and he could get too obsessed with figuring out equations. People were going to treat him like a child until he proved himself, as if getting into Starfleet at his age was not proof enough.  
What he hadn’t expected was that he could be the top of his class, could be acknowledged by all his teachers to be one of the brightest students they’d ever had and still be dismissed as the ‘adorable little boy from Russia.’

Chekov chose to surround himself with puzzles instead. It was more lonely than he would have liked but it kept his mind sharp and his time occupied. He was here to study so he could get on an exploration vessel anyway. He was fine.

Then came that cold, wet Thursday in Autumn.

Arms full of datapads, Chekov wandered down the mostly empty Linguistics corridors, doing his best not to look too lost so the few loitering cadets wouldn’t stare. On his fourth lap round Chekov, to his horror, stumbled over his own feet and sent the datapads flying across the floor with an awkward clatter.

“Are you lost, cadet?” 

Chekov laughed hastily, nodding.

“I am very sorry but I do not know zis area of ze Academy yet! Communications and Linguistics are not my subjects.”

Chekov thought the other person had walked off when they didn’t reply.

Instead Chekov nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and saw Professor Spock standing in front of him.  


Chekov had never come across Professor Spock before and had privately felt very relieved about that. The Vulcan professor was not known to be particularly warm.

Professor Spock regarded him impassively. “Do you require assistance navigating this section, cadet?”

“Nyet, nyet- no, no thank you professor, I am sure I can find my own way!”

“This is the fourth time you have passed my classroom in the past 6.5 minutes which would suggest the opposite.”

“Ah… yes…” Now Chekov felt rather stupid.

Professor Spock blinked at him. “Please follow me.” He said before turning and going inside one of the classrooms.

Chekov tip-toed after him.

The classroom was the generic design of a lecture hall, virtually indistinguishable from the hundred other classrooms Starfleet housed. Professor Spock moved to stand behind his desk. “I am Professor Spock. What is your name, cadet?”

“Pavel Chekov, professor.”

“What is your age, Cadet Chekov?”

“Fifteen sir,” He said. He shifted the pads he was carrying and wished, not for the first time that day that Professor Leneel had not asked him to deliver reports for her. 

“The average age of a first-year cadet is 20, for humans.”

Chekov chuckled hesitantly. “I am wery intelligent for my age group, professor.”

“Evidently.” Professor Spock moved to pick up his own data pad. “Joining Starfleet at a young age is an impressive achievement. What is your destination, cadet?”

“I must give zese reports to Professor Philips, professor.”

“Professor Philip’s classroom is located directly across from my own.”

It was not possible for Chekov to feel anymore silly. “Thank you professor, I am wery sorry for using up your time.” Haavarick would surely laugh at him when he retold this story later.

“It is understandable that you would be unfamiliar with a place you have never been. Might I suggest that in the future you request assistance from your peers to avoid similar complications.”

“I do not have many friends professor, but zank you. Perhaps I shall use a map.” 

“Is your age such an obstacle to forming bonds with your peers?”

The question was asked with such neutrality and bluntness that Chekov, who was usually berated for talking too fast was left wrong-footed for a moment. 

“It can be professor,” he finally admitted, honestly and so inappropriately. “Everyone here is much older, and zey all treat me like a child. Zere is one person who – well zey do not count.”

“Why is that?”

“He is my roommate, professor.”

“It is logical to cultivate a friendship with someone you share living space with.”

“Yes, professor.”

Professor Spock inclined his head a fraction and broke eye contact.

“Bonds can hinder your academic progress and prevent you from using your time at the Academy productively. The lack of peers that you can connect with should not necessarily be viewed as a disadvantage." The Vulcan sat down at his desk. "Dismissed, cadet Chekov.”

“... Yes, professor.”

Professor Philips was asleep in his chair when Chekov went in, so he quietly left the datapads on his desk and tip-toed out again.

Six hours later the rain had stopped (to the delight of the many students planning to go out and enjoy themselves) and a light fog had descended upon San Fransisco. Chekov was curled up in his dorm room alone, puzzling over a particularly difficult training problem while he nibbled on the chocolate his sister had sent him. 

The chocolate tasted wonderful and melted on his tongue, not like American chocolate did. Chekov planned to comm his sister later and plead for more. But right now he was distracted.

Tapping his stylus against his lips, he frowned. The people who patted him on the head and cooed at him were annoying but they were nice to him, and said hello and asked him how he was when they saw him. Haavarick would sometimes invite him out before he remembered Chekov was underage and stood no chance of getting into any clubs with a fake I.D. 

He thought of stone-faced Professor Spock, more foreign and intelligent than he was and of course, a lot more scary. He was still very happy that he did not have Professor Spock as a teacher but Chekov wondered if anyone ever said hello to him, just to be friendly.

Maybe he would start.

... Then again, maybe he would just stick to nodding at him respectfully in the corridors first.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how i feel about this. proud that i did something this evening though, which is the important thing i guess.


End file.
